Before the Telegram
by curlycutie016
Summary: Every mountain is "unclimbable" until someone climbs it. So every ship is "unsinkable" until it sinks.
1. Chapter 1

Patrick woke up with a jolt. If he had time to think about it he really didn't know why he had woken up suddenly but he had because something was off. It took him a few moments to realize that it wasn't something that had happened but rather something that wasn't happening. The regular, rhythmic sound of the ship's engines had stopped, like a heart had stopped beating.

As he lay there in the dark, waiting for the sound to continue, he couldn't help but feel anxious and not just because of the ship's lack of movement.

Patrick was accompanying his father, who had personal business to attend to in New York. His father was a bit of a modern man when it came to business because he actually engaged in it. "If it's my money then I want to have a say in how it's managed and damn those Society nitwits who wouldn't know what to do with ten pounds if it was actually in their hands!" he had railed in the past.

At the time Patrick's cousin the Earl of Grantham had taken up the torch of propriety and tradition by arguing the opposite. Both men were passionate about their views but respected the other for having their opinion.

Patrick had decided to stay out of the argument by turning to his cousin Mary, who was seated on his left at the dinner table. "I think they're only a step away from blows," he whispered to her.

"I doubt it," she dismissed his attempt to create intimate conversation.

Patrick sighed; it was always the same way with Mary. They both knew what was expected of them so why not make an effort to be pleasant about the arrangement?

"Give it time, boy," was his father's advice, "She'll come around."

Patrick wasn't sure she wanted her to 'come around' to the idea of marrying him; he would have liked it if she actually wanted to be with him and not tolerate the idea.

He wanted more time to spend with her, so she could get to know him and vise versa. This is why when his father insisted that he travel with him to New York for business he asked if they could get it over and done with, so they wouldn't miss more of the Season.

His father had laughed, "What a girl you are, worrying about missing the Season."

Patrick flushed, "Well if it means Mary doesn't have a choice but to spend time with me by giving me a certain amount of waltzes I don't mind what you call me. Besides that Duke of Crowborough was sniffing around her last year and I can't have him weasel his way in to her affections."

"A strategic romantic, I like it. Very well, we sail in early April and we'll return by May," his father declared.

Now he was lying in bed on a luxurious ship, waiting for it to continue it's journey and hoping to fall back asleep but now in the stillness he found himself thinking about her again.

Lady Mary Crawley had made him lose many nights of sleep just because of the internal battle that raged regarding how he really felt about her.

Did he want her because it was a good business match, keeping the money in the family? Did she really feel that cool towards him because of personal dislike or was it dislike of the circumstances of their understanding? Did he just view her as more of a conquest because of her attitude towards him? These questions and more kept rolling through his mind over and over.

His reverie was broken with the sound of loud footsteps pounding outside, it sounded like someone was running up and down the corridor.

Patrick got up to investigate, he stuck his head outside the door. "Hello, excuse me, what's the commotion?" he asked a man, wearing evening dress, who had a panicked look.

"The ship's hit something. I was playing cards and the light fixtures started shaking. Me and the chaps went to see what was happening and there was ice all over," the man rushed out an explanation, "I'm going to grab my life vest like the steward advised and head back up to see what's going on." And with that he left Patrick standing in the hallway dumbfounded.

Life vests? Hitting something? Ice? It sounded too sensational to be true. But it must be, after all why had the engines stopped? Patrick went back inside to his room and decided he would wake his father before deciding what to do.

He went to the door that connected the adjoining rooms, "Father," he softly called out as he opened the door and went in, "Father you have to wake up, there's a problem with the ship." He shook his father's shoulder gently.

"What's the meaning of this?" his father asked, startled and flustered before turning on the bed's side light.

"Father, I'm sorry to wake you up but there's an emergency with the ship," Patrick tried to keep the panic from creeping into his voice but as he continued he found it harder to control, "The engines have stopped, there's talk that we've hit something maybe a berg since there's ice all on the upper decks."

"Get a hold of yourself Patrick," James Crawley sat up in bed to listen for the engines himself. "Well if the engines are off then there could be a problem with them that they are seeing to or perhaps they've stopped the ship for the remainder of the night as a precaution against bergs."

Patrick tried to hold his tongue but logic overcame him, "Well there's no harm in find out answers for ourselves, I'm going to dress and see if I can locate someone who's informed."

His father scoffed, "Suit yourself, when it turns out to be nothing please don't wake me again to inform me."

James dismissed him by turning out the light and rolling over in the bed.


	2. Chapter 2

Patrick returned to his room and began to dress. It had been cold when he had gone for a walk earlier on deck today. Now that it was well into the night it was sure to be worse, he reasoned as he reached for his wool pants.

Patrick was nothing but sensible and yet he was still feeling a bit panicky. He couldn't help but relate these anxious feelings to those he had felt when he had been summoned to the Foreign Office a little more than a year ago.

It was completely unexpected; he had just sat for his finals at Oxford, returned from his Grand Tour and was settling in back in London when there was a knock at the door.

Ten minutes later he was being asked to get into a cab with a yet-to-be-named escort. He didn't know where he was being taken to but as they passed St. James Park he assumed it had to be serious. As they pulled up in front of the imposing Foreign Office building, Patrick knew he was about to be tested to his limits.

He was shown into an office and told to wait. Patrick was accustomed to ornate and luxurious settings so he didn't feel out of place in the finely furnished room. All he could think of is why would he be called into the Foreign Office?

"You've been brought here because of your recent Grand Tour which took you into African regions of interest to us and your also a Balliol boy," a voice started to explain as a man appeared from a concealed doorway to sit at the desk in front of Patrick.

It was Edward Grey, 1st Viscount Grey of Fallodon, the Foreign Secretary himself. "I won't bother with niceties because there is urgent business we must attend to, you understand of course?"

Patrick could only look dumbfounded nod. "Excuse me but what urgent business must we attend to? How can I help with anything? I just mucked about Egypt, Algeria and Morocco! Oh excuse me," Patrick remembered himself and whom he was talking to; he flushed at his outburst.

Grey didn't seem to notice Patrick had said anything; he was looking at a map on his desk and various scattered papers. "You spent a great deal of time in Morocco and I'm assuming you made some acquaintances there of the French persuasion?"

"Yes, but I don't know what that has to do with anything," Patrick moved forward in his seat, hoping to gain Grey's direct attention.

Maybe then he would believe it when Patrick said he didn't know anything that could be of use. "I don't know anything that could be of use to you."

Grey looked up and smiled wolfishly, "Oh but you do Mr. Crawley. We are going to have a nice long chat about what the French are saying about us, the Germans and how those Moroccans feel about all three of us."

Now sitting on his bed putting on his shoes, Patrick reminds himself to take a deep breath and calm himself. There have been more stressful situations to contend with in his lifetime than a ship that's stopped moving.

He walked over to the closet and on the top shelf is a life vest. He decides to carry it instead of putting it on right away, why dress like it's an emergency if it's nothing? It's nothing, becomes his mantra for the rest of the night.

Patrick walked towards the Grand Staircase, since it was a main artery of traffic he figured that was his best chance of running into someone besides a fellow passenger who knew what was going on.

It didn't take long for him to travel from C Deck to the Grand Staircase. None of the stewards seemed to take notice of him since he was in possession of his live vest, they were busy trying to tell people to return to their rooms and put on life vests and belts.

Patrick scanned the room to see if he recognized anyone he had previously met and who might know what exactly was happening.

He spotted Karl, who was in a cabin room near his, standing by a family. "Behr!" he called out. Karl looked up from the young woman he was talking to and waved him over.

"Crawely, I thought you would have slept and missed all the excitement," Karl said lightheartedly but his eyes didn't have the same levity. Karl glanced towards the young woman beside him and Patrick understood immediately.

"Slept thought it all only to have you lord it over me tomorrow?" Patrick scoffed, "as if you need another thing to lord over me after trouncing me on the courts earlier."

The young woman smiled with tight lips at this exchange, "I'm not an infant, there's no need to put on a show for me."

Karl genuinely smiled and laughed, "Oh Helen," at a sharp glance from an older woman close by he correct himself, "Forgive me, Miss Newsom, the pleasantries weren't for your sake but for mine and I'm sure Patrick's as well."

Helen, uncrossed her arms and tilted her face up towards Karl, "Well if that's the case I won't hold it against you."

Patrick watched this exchange with fascination.

Patrick had met Karl Behr when they were sat next to each other for dinner at the beginning of the voyage. They had quite a bit in common; the both had finished school recently, were starting their careers and were traveling on business.

At least that's what Karl had told Patrick initially. Patrick soon discovered the reason Karl was traveling was because of Miss Helen Newsom, a friend of his sister's, they had formed an attachment that her mother did not approve of.

"So she thought she'd save her darling girl by packing her away off to Europe for a Grand Tour and get her set up with some Lord or Duke or whatnot. Well the joke's on her because Helen wouldn't have it, and I happened to have 'business' in Europe at the same time…now it seems that my 'business' is taking me back to the United States," Karl told Patrick over a late night brandy.

Patrick couldn't imagine what it would be like to love someone so intensely that he would follow her over an ocean and that she too would fight against her parents' wishes for her to marry another. "It sounds like nothing in this life will keep you apart," he concluded.

"You're damn right," Karl said leaning back in his club chair.

Karl had then invited him for a friendly tennis match the following day.

It was after this Patrick realized he had heard the name Karl Behr before.

Karl laughed, "You didn't know who I was? And you agreed to a match with me?"

Patrick, panting and flushed turned even brighter red, "I didn't think you were the same bloody Behr that was at Wimbledon in '07."

Karl just laughed harder and gave Patrick a friendly slap on the back. "Here I thought you were just playing nonchalant or that you were a secret tennis professional yourself."

Needless to say, Karl was a fine friend to have made for the voyage. Patrick was glad he had found him and Newsoms so easily, if anyone might have an idea about what was happening it would be them.


End file.
